


Wayward Wives and Where to Find Them

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, F/F, F/M, Multi, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 19:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11042646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease





	Wayward Wives and Where to Find Them

 

At first, Lucius Malfoy did not know quite what was wrong. His sense of time really hadn’t been the same after Azkaban and those…he shuddered violently at the thought... _ dementors _ . They’d sucked out all of the pure-blooded confidence that he’d been born into, among other things.  

 

The war was over. The Malfoy family had lost most of their wealth, and other than the Manor, most items had been confiscated by the Ministry to repay war debts. Funnily enough, the Manor was  _ technically _ considered a member of the family, so it couldn’t be repossessed like the average property. Ten generations ago, Fernand Malfoy had supposedly sacrificed his twin brother on the land to create the blood wards that tied the land to the Malfoy bloodline.  The bones of Aloicious Lucius Malfoy were supposed to be buried under the marble in the sub-basement, but even though the war was long over and Azkaban was behind him, Lucius had never felt the need to go down and check.  

 

The Lucius that had been broken free from Azkaban was a quieter Lucius. A more humble Lucius.  A  _ hesitant _ Lucius that was prone to holing himself up in closets and cabinets and rocking back and forth with irrational bouts of fear.  Sometimes, he could feel... _ something _ ...staring at him, though nothing was ever there when he finally scoured the room with his wand-tip lit as brightly as he could make it.  

 

It really didn’t help that Draco was living on his own in a flat in London, and Narcissa wouldn’t even sleep in the same bed with him anymore.

 

“You talk in your sleep,” she’d said coldly, when he’d asked, but she’d taken up the habit long before the war was over.

 

Lucius had no real illusions about the state of his marriage. Narcissa had checked out the moment that her son ( _ hers _ , as though he’d been born of her womb  _ alone _ !) had been placed in danger because Lucius had stormed the Ministry and lost the prophecy to a bunch of teenagers.  They’d worked together like a well-oiled machine for the sake of their son during the war, but now that he was gone…

 

“Cissa?” He asked, listening to his voice echo in the empty hall.

 

He flitted around the Manor, even going so far as visiting the eastern wing, which had long been reclaimed by dust bunnies, only to find himself alone.  Lucius decided to call for his house elf, but then he remembered.

 

Dobby was dead. 

 

He'd learned later that the freed house elf had died thanks to Bellatrix, but that wasn't much of a surprise. Bella always did love killing things that didn't belong to her. 

 

Dobby had been his last house elf.  In fact, he’d been assigned to care for Lucius since birth.  Malfoy Manor had been left empty for half a century, as Abraxas’ father had moved to the south of France, and Abraxas had prefered to stay there when matters of importance did not need to be attended to at the Ministry. Lucius had never lived anywhere other than his parents’ mansion before marrying Narcissa.  He’d only ever gone to the Manor during the summers when Hogwarts was out, and then it was always filled with people, day and night.

 

Abraxas did love his parties, after all, and Lucius had taken after his father in that regard in spades.

 

Narcissa had been irritated when she’d found out that the entire Malfoy household would only be served by one single elf. She was used to at least a team of a dozen.

 

“They go crazy by themselves,” she’d told Lucius on their wedding day, “They have to have at least a single family unit, or they start to behave... _ strangely _ .”

 

Lucius, who’d never lived in a household with only one house elf, but who had relied almost solely on Dobby since he was still in short pants, had scoffed at the notion. There would only be one elf in their household because….because  _ reasons _ . 

 

Because the half-bloods mostly used charms and magically imbued gadgets.

 

Because the muggleborns were used to doing the chores with their...he shuddered at the thought whenever he remembered... _ hands _ .

 

Because most house elves had fled during the first war, and most pure-blooded households were merely holding onto the last remnants of their stock, many of whom were too old to breed.

 

Only Hogwarts still had thriving numbers of house elves, but it was rumored among the pure-blooded families that Hogwarts had exchanged extensive magical protection to the elves in return for their service, and the ancestors of the elves had agreed to tie their bloodlines to the terms long ago when the Founders were still alive.

 

It had been yet another thing he’d been wrong about, and Narcissa had never let him live it down.

 

“Narcissa?” There was, as before, no reply.

 

Lucius looked down at his stained robes and ran a hand across his stubbly chin which was becoming more beardy than scruffy. He didn’t grow facial hair very quickly, so he must have been going at this for more than a week.  As if finally catching up to him, his stomach growled angrily at him for neglecting it.

 

“Bugger. I lost time again,” he muttered to himself, going through his pockets and pulling out his wand.  He stumbled down to the kitchen to fix himself something to eat, but most of the food that wasn’t moldy was dodgy-looking at best.

 

Lucius sighed and grabbed some floo powder from the top of the fireplace.

 

“Diagon Alley!” he said, his voice cracking just a bit as he stepped into the green flame shakily.

 

He spun away from Malfoy Manor, a familiar sense of nausea rising in his belly.  He was thankful that he’d not eaten, after all.

 

* * *

 

Hermione Granger got up from her desk for the fifth time that morning and went to check to see if she’d remembered to turn the sign on the door to say “open.”

 

She had and it did.

 

Sighing with irritation, she stomped back to her desk and tried to look busy.  

 

The idea for the Point-Me Detective Agency had been Harry’s idea, but it had been Dean Thomas who’d finally convinced her that she actually had what it took to be a private investigator when she’d found and rescued his daughter after she’d been kidnapped by a couple of criminals dead set on extorting the now-famous professional Quidditch player.  The Aurors had closed in after Hermione had done most of the barely-legal footwork and she’d been paid handsomely for her work as well as a permanent place at the Thomas table whenever she wished to stop by.  

 

Hermione had always been gifted in the art of researching various mysteries while in school, and this fact had often saved her friends’ lives.  Her dogged determination and willingness to bend (and sometimes break) the rules when she felt that it was appropriate was dwarfed only by inability to let something go until she’d seen it through.

 

Of course, this personality trait wasn’t always a good thing. She’d stayed unhappily married to Ron even after he’d begun to beat her. If he’d not splinched himself to death while trying to Apparate home after one too many at the pub, Hermione wasn’t sure if she’d ever have left him. 

 

But what was done was done. 

 

Only Hermione knew the full truth about Ron’s abusive behavior and the nature of his death, which had been played up as a tragedy in the papers and at his funeral.  She let the family gloss over her husband’s flaws because there really wasn’t any point in dragging him through the mud now. She played the perfect widow, crying perfect crocodile tears, and no one had suspected a thing. Really, though, they were tears of relief.  After, she’d nearly had a nervous breakdown- now that she was safe and didn’t have to worry about Rose’s safety, it was as though her body took the opportunity to feel the past few years worth of horror all in a span of a month.  She got through the worst of it, but not without notice.  Molly had practically demanded that she and her daughter move into the Burrow, but Hermione had settled with letting Molly take care of Rose while Hermione set out to find work for herself.

 

It wasn’t cheap to raise a child all by oneself, especially when one’s dead husband had a habit of drinking away all the money. Rose was already three, and Hermione could already see that she was going to have both Ron’s red hair and his short temper, which made her sad and somewhat wistful at the same time.  A tantrum was far less terrifying when it came out of a short person with a cute little voice who could be put on timeout, after all.

 

Normally, she had at least one or two clients going at once, as the Aurors often referred cases that weren’t clearly crimes to her, but the past few months had been slow as hell, and Hermione was getting tired of dusting and rearranging the knick knacks on her desk.

 

Hermione had resigned herself to reading her advanced Arithmancy text for the rest of the day away when she heard the bell on the front door tinkle merrily.

 

She looked up, her face rearranging into a professional smile and froze.

  
There, standing in the foyer with what looked like half of a pasty in his hand, was a very bedraggled-looking Lucius Malfoy, his eyes huge and shiny with a strange emotion that Hermione had never before seen on the normally proud man’s face.

 

“You, there!” Malfoy said, his stringy blond hair falling around his face in matted clumps. “Do you find wives?”

 

Hermione stood and gathered her composure.  A customer, after all, was still a customer.  Even if it was Lucius-sodding-Malfoy.

 

“Yes,” she said, her voice unwavering as the cursed scar on her arm twinged with something like a memory.  Lucius had been there when she’d been tortured, but he’d mostly cowered in the corner like a kicked dog.  If his current state was any indication, he was still but a shell of his former self.

 

“I can’t find Cissy,” Lucius said, his voice wavering like a lost child’s rather than a man of nearly fifty.

 

Hermione took a deep breath. 

 

“I can.”

 

* * *

 

Lucius sagged onto the couch, his eyes filling with grateful tears.   _ Finally _ . Someone who could help him.  She stepped closer and Lucius nearly dropped his pasty.

 

“Her….Hermione Granger?” He used his free hand to brush his hair away from his eyes and sat back with a shocked expression on his face. “ _ The _ Hermione Granger?”

 

“The one and only,” she replied, crossing her arms and looking down at him with a sympathetic, yet calculating expression. “As far as I’m aware, that is.”

 

Food had helped to banish most of the fog that tended to settle over Lucius’ mind, but he couldn’t help but stare at the woman who stood at least half a head shorter than Narcissa, and whose body was still somehow rather shapely in her ill-tailored brown robes. She was most definitely no longer the obnoxious little chit that Severus had complained about many a time when they’d gone out for a meal and a pint. Her wavy hair only hit her shoulders now, which made her look more mature as well.  

 

Lucius nearly choked when he realized what he was thinking.

 

“N...Narcissa...My….wife,” he choked out.

 

“Mr. Malfoy, you’ll need to speak in full sentences if you’d like me to help you,” Hermione said.

 

Lucius pursed his lips together as though about to speak, but suddenly, his vision was blurring and he could feel the sensation of falling.  

 

“Please,” was all he could manage before Lucius fell unconscious and toppled forward off the couch.

* * *

 

Hermione knew she should send a Patronus to Harry.  He’d want to know what a class two felon (the designation for a former Death Eater who’d been convicted of aiding the Dark Lord financially but who’d not been connected with any known murders) was doing.

 

But the husk of a man who lay on her floor was not the Lucius Malfoy who she remembered from her childhood.  The hollow look on his face and his disheveled appearance was something she knew intimately. After the war, she’d gone through an almost catatonic state, especially after she found out that she’d inadvertently killed Dolohov by crushing him with a pillar that she’d meant to simply fall in front of the pursuing Death Eaters.  Killing was killing, after all, and there was no dignity in a death from crushing.  Ron had told her many times that the man had deserved it, but it never sat right with Hermione.  She’d begun neglecting her hygiene and often spent entire days in bed, just...existing.  She lost weight forgetting to eat, only to miserably choke down food when the pain in her belly got bad enough.

 

She’d sought Muggle therapy and supplemented it with calming potions and mood stabilizing charms.  It made things better, but as she’d learned in therapy- “healing is a process.”

 

She bent down on one knee.  Lucius Malfoy looked and smelled like death warmed over.  She checked his pulse and then felt his chest rising up and down slowly.  Frowning, she pulled out her wand and levitated him back onto the couch, enlarging it so that he could lie lengthwise without his feet hanging off the end.

 

Then she walked over to the front door and turned the lock, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.  This was going to take some time, but she needed him to be lucid enough to explain himself.

 

“I do know one thing, though. Narcissa Malfoy is missing,” she muttered to herself as she turned to unlock her potions cabinet and pulled out a few glass bottles.  Then, with her wand, she cast a semi-circle and a star shape while muttering an incantation.  A golden light covered Lucius’ body and some of the hollow around his eyes receded. It was, unfortunately, a side effect of having been in the company of dementors for too long. Part of the dementor's soul draining magic literally leached into the body, keeping the afflicted person in a constant state of soul-drain.  Hermione had figured out a way to modify the patronus charm to draw the poison out, but it wasn’t a cure-all. The body would still have to heal, and that took time.  But it would reduce his fugues states, which were a common side effect.  Hermione couldn’t believe that he hadn’t been treated at St. Mungo's, but she supposed that he had his reasons.  Of course, he probably wasn’t in any state to actually think about that himself, but why then hadn’t Narcissa taken him?

 

Hermione’s mind began to connect a few dark dots and she frowned.  Could Narcissa be hoping that Lucius would simply…. _ take care _ of himself?  It wasn’t likely that she’d be able to get much money out of his death, but there were still assets that the Ministry hadn’t seized.  Then Hermione’s mind latched onto another plausible thought.  Perhaps this was revenge.  Lucius had been the reason why Draco had been branded with the Mark and lost claim to most of his formerly sizable inheritance.

 

Hermione cast a few Cleansing Charms on Lucius’ robes and the grimy places around his hands and ankles that looked as though they hadn’t been washed in ages. His matted, dirty hair was the worst.  Hermione found herself grabbing a bowl from the kitchenette and filling it with warm, soapy water.  Using her wand to apply it to his hair, she lathered and rinsed it before drying it with another charm.  A large clump of his white-blond hair refused to detangle itself and Hermione finally severed it with a quick wand motion before she lost her nerve.  

 

She knew that fussing over the man like this was probably excessive, but he just looked so pathetic that she could hardly stand it.

 

Hermione had a bit of a weak spot for people on the edge of falling apart.  Ron had been raw and hurting too after Fred had died.  Unfortunately, he’d also refused to help himself when he’d had the chance to do so, and everyone had suffered for it.

 

The glow of the modified patronus charm receded slowly, leaving Lucius Malfoy’s pale face with a slightly pink glow to it.  His eyes seemed set more normally in his head instead of sunken into his skull.

 

With a deep breath, Hermione cast  _ Ennervate _ .

 

“Where am I?” Lucius blinked and his icy eyes focused on Hermione’s face.

 

“Are you feeling better, Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione asked.

 

“Please. Call me Lucius,” came the reply.

 

Hermione blinked. In the span of a few moments, his voice had gone from high and childlike to a deep, silky rumble that reminded her of the proud, scary man she’d first seen in her second year.

 

“You’ve been greatly weakened by residual soul sucking venom from your time with the dementors,” Hermione explained. “I also took the liberty of cleaning you up a bit...with charms, of course!”  She blushed at that, though she knew she’d done nothing untoward.

 

“I...see,” Lucius replied, looking down at his cleaned robes and grime-free finger nails. “Well. You have my thanks, Hermione.”

 

Hermione had to step on the toes of her left foot with the other to stop from shivering at the way he said her name.  She was being stupid, that’s what she was being. A right idiot. It’d simply been too long since she’d had a date with a nice young wizard, and his (admittedly amazing) voice was getting to her.  Hermione could tell that Professor Snape had probably modeled his silky teaching voice from Lucius Malfoy, as it had been revealed that the two had been close friends.  It was almost uncanny how Lucius looked like a slightly older version of Draco, almost as though they could be brothers rather than father and son. Hermione knew that this was largely due to how most wizards and witches began to age more slowly once they hit their thirties. She’d read up on the phenomenon a few years earlier, but there wasn’t much objective scientific inquiry in the Wizarding World and she’d given up when most texts that referenced the phenomenon tended to slide rather quickly into pure-blood supremacist rhetoric.

 

“I’ve...er...prepared some potions,” Hermione said awkwardly. “There’s a blood replenishing potion, which should clean your blood of any dementor venom still remaining in your system, a nutritional replenishing potion, and a Pepperup potion to help you get some energy back.”

 

Lucius nodded and took each bottle, sniffing the contents before downing the entire dose in a single gulp. When he was done, Hermione took the empty bottles and placed them in the sink, glad for something to do that didn’t involve staring at the man and imagining highly improper things.

 

* * *

 

When she returned, Lucius Malfoy was lounging on the couch, looking like an almost entirely different person.  He had stretched himself out with one leg up in the air as he rested on one elbow and looked up at her, his hair practically  _ glowing  _ around his face like a halo.   _ Lounging _ was the tamest way that Hermione could describe it, really.  His icy silver eyes had grown even clearer, and they glittered at her as he saw her stop short in the doorway. As Hermione felt her face grow uncharacteristically hot, Lucius seemed to realize what was happening and he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, his residual glow greatly diminished.

 

“My apologies,” he rumbled, his expression somewhat sheepish, “It’s been so long that I had forgotten that I could do that.”

 

“What….” Hermione was stunned.  There’d been talk (mostly between Lavender and Parvati, which she’d endured more than overheard) that Draco was at least part Veela due to his popularity with the girls despite his awful personality, but Hermione had always allowed her dislike of the proud boy to overshadow her underlying interest in him. But since Veela were generally female, it had been assumed that it was his mother who’d passed it on.

 

“Oh, I have no Veela blood, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lucius said, making a distasteful expression.  Hermione could feel the effect he was having on her decrease significantly as she remembered what he thought about so-called “non human” sapient beings. “This...this is the Malfoy talent.  It’s only gifted to those in our bloodline, which is why the Blacks were so very insistent upon marrying one of their daughters to me.  I was actually supposed to wed Andromeda, but she ran off with that...Tonks…”

  
Lucius shrugged. “I didn’t mind either way.  We didn’t know each other well, and while Narcissa was significantly younger than I was, we got along fairly well.”

 

Hermione was stunned. “ _ Fairly well _ ?” She choked out. “What about love? Attraction?  It sounds horrible.”

 

Lucius fixed her with a cool look. “Neither of us were forced and both of us were of age when we married, if that’s what you’re implying. I don’t expect someone with such...cultural differences...to understand.”

 

Hermione felt a prick of shame fill her chest.  It  _ was _ unfair for her to judge whether or not other people decided to marry in a different way than how she had been raised.  “That was unfair of me,” she said, finally, “and I know that you don’t have to tell me why you were...er...glowing like that, but I must admit, I’m curious to know more about it.  I know nothing about what it actually is, you see and-”

 

Lucius put up a hand, his lips curling into an indulgent smile.  It was obvious that he took pleasure from Hermione’s admission of ignorance. “So, you don’t know everything, do you? How droll. Well, luckily for you, I am willing to explain.  Just as the Lestrange family is known for Legilimency and the Blacks are known for their metamorphmagus capabilities, so too does the Malfoy family have a gift.”

 

Hermione boggled at this. “So you mean that...that-”

 

“Yes.” Lucius smiled flirtatiously. “The Sacred twenty-eight is not just a list of pure-blooded families.  It is a list of families with longstanding bloodlines that have a high incidence of Wizarding Habebatis.  Habebatis, in this case, meaning an ability or talent that-”

 

“-I’m aware of the latin meaning,” Hermione interrupted, looking annoyed.

 

“As I’m sure you would be,” Lucius replied without skipping a beat, “However, I am doing so in order to be absolutely clear as to what it means to  _ us _ .”  He indicated himself with one hand and bowed his head a bit.  

 

It  _ was _ a bit over-the-top, but Hermione had to admit that it suited him and she sighed, nodding for him to continue.

 

“As I was saying, the Habebatis is a special ability that is not often found in most witches and wizards, and is rarely found in the mud….muggleborn population.” Lucius seemed to struggle with altering his word from the slur, but he appeared to be making an effort, so Hermione said nothing about his near-slip. “There are others besides the ones I mentioned, and the Malfoy family is not on the Sacred Twenty-Eight because of my great grandfather’s decision to live full-time in Burgundy instead of Britain, but we have also harbored a great talent, which is why the Blacks made an exception when marrying their daughter to me.”

 

“They call it Lux Animae,” Lucius continued silkily. “The light of one’s soul, though I have doubts about it being my actual soul for obvious reasons.  Think of it as a permanent glamour that exudes out from one’s body, increasing one’s likeability, beauty and physical attractiveness far beyond what is actually present.”

 

Hermione stared at him skeptically. “So...it’s a lie?”

 

“Not exactly,” Lucius replied, his voice growing irritated. “It’s more like an enhancement that allows me an easier time interacting with everyone.”

 

“You mean getting your way after manipulating people,” Hermione accused.

 

Lucius shrugged. “That’s how  _ you _ see it. I do, however, think that you’d think differently if you were the one gifted with it. I cannot make people do things that they don’t want to do, after all, merely be the best version of myself whenever I wish to be.”

 

“So, you can turn it off, then?” Hermione asked.

 

“Well, yes, though I prefer to keep it on at a low level for various personal reasons. Children have a harder time controlling it, but are taught to do so because it can lower one’s casting ability if left on all the time.” Lucius pursed his lips. “I must also admit that it made it very hard to avoid spoiling my son before he’d fully learned to control himself.”

 

Hermione thought about how Draco had looked much more haggard and disheveled in their sixth year than he’d ever appeared before. At least part of that would have to have been the fact that his magic was drained enough to keep the effects of his gift minimal at best.

 

“Prove it,” Hermione said.

 

“Pardon me?” Lucius blinked back, seemingly confused.

 

“Prove it by turning it off completely,” Hermione said, “Show me what you really look like.  Or are you too afraid to do it?”

 

Lucius’ nostrils flared with irritation, but he nodded. “It won’t be pretty. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

 

Hermione crossed her arms and waited.  Surely he didn’t think that she, of all people, was superficially minded! He’d seen her buck teeth and tower of frizz before.  Sure, she’d fixed her teeth with a bit of magic, and the bushy frizz was mostly tamed by magical hair products that she could finally afford due to her business, but it was still a mark of contention to Hermione to be seen as anything but accepting of others.

 

Lucius sighed, and did as she’d requested.  It wasn’t instantaneous like turning off a light, but rather like the sensation of fading light over his body.  The first thing that she noticed were the sunken hollows around his eyes from malnutrition, which made it look as though his eyes were staring out of the empty sockets of his skull.  So, too, did she see fine lines around his eyes and forehead, thought once again, not as many as a muggle of his age. But when she saw the scar, the one that ran down from his temple and traced the curve of his jaw almost all the way to his chin, she gasped.

 

It was more than a scar.  It was a  _ brand _ .

 

“My father etched this into my face with a cursed knife when I was a teen,” Lucius said uncomfortably, touching his finger and tracing the grooves of the shape absently, “I had been...disobedient.  I never dared to do so again.”

 

Hermione knew the shape of the rune. “It’s a compulsion spell,” she said, tracing the shape in the air as she did so. “They’re only supposed to be used on enchanted objects, not people.”

 

“My father used it to...hurt me when I behaved in a way that he did not like,” Lucius said, his face twisted with memory.

 

Hermione gasped audibly with horror. “That’s terrible!”

 

Lucius nodded sadly. “Truth be told, Narcissa was only just seventeen when we married. My father saw to that.  We had wanted to wait at least a year into the relationship before beginning to try for a child, but my father... _ insisted _ .  I think I cried blood after he was done with me. But that wasn’t the worst part.”  He looked at Hermione sadly. “You wouldn’t want to know. It’s an old pure-blooded tradition, but even I found it distasteful.”

 

Hermione could feel the morbid curiosity bubbling in her stomach. “Well, you did say that you wanted me to find your wife. Perhaps it has some bearings on where she went or why?”

 

“He took her first,” Lucius said, his voice utterly flat.

 

Hermione blinked.

 

“What do you-?”

 

“Had his way. He...touched my wife... _ had _ her...as though she wasn’t a person, but property to be borrowed, used, and returned.” Lucius covered his eyes with one hand. “I shall never forgive myself for allowing it.”

 

“Did you try to stop him?” Hermione asked.

 

“Of course I did!” Lucius snarled back. “But he...he nearly knocked me unconscious. I woke up to my wife sobbing under a blanket and blood dripping out of one of my ears.  He had gone, of course.”

 

Hermione frowned and then grabbed her notebook, writing down the pertinent information and circling a few things before looking up at Lucius again.

 

“It happened ages ago,” Lucius said, still looking slightly ill before allowing his gift to slide over his face once again, leaving his skin with the appearance of being healthy, pure, and unmarked.  “I can’t see how it could be related.”

 

“How old was your father when he hurt Narcissa?” Hermione asked, nibbling on the back of her pen.  It was a bad habit, but Hermione didn’t care to change it.

 

Lucius frowned, thinking for a long moment, before his face suddenly took on a look of comprehension. “You can’t be serious.”

 

Hermione looked at him coolly. “Your son looks like you. It does not seem completely out of the realm of possibility that you might resemble your own father. And I hate to be the one to tell you this, but most women don’t just  _ get over _ being treated like their body is a thing to be used.”

 

Lucius made a scoffing sound, but his eyes were full of worry.  “Do you think she...has left for good because of...my appearance?”

 

Hermione shrugged and put away the notebook. “There is only one way to find out.”

 

“Where are we going?” Lucius asked, standing up with an uncertain timbre to his voice.

 

Hermione shook her head. “First, it’s time for me to do what I am best at.”

 

“And that is?” Lucius sat back down and laid back as he had before.

 

“Research,” Hermione said confidently, ignoring his raised eyebrow.  “You can come back later if you like or you can stay. It’s up to you, but you will have to refrain from being a distraction.”

 

Hermione turned and walked back to her desk, doing her best not to let on that simply by being in the room and glowing slightly, Lucius Malfoy was the  _ definition _ of a distraction.

 

Hermione forced herself to grab a page of parchment and begin an inquiry letter.  Her owl, Beatrice, was going to be busy.

* * *

  
“You’re my client. You didn’t have to come with me,” Hermione said, as she and Lucius crouched behind a hedge.

 

Well, to be fair, Lucius was doing more of a sexy lunge thing that Hermione was pointedly attempting to ignore, but it achieved the desired result of staying hidden from view.

 

“She’s  _ my _ wife,” Lucius replied with a sniff.

 

Hermione shrugged back in his general direction, but let him be.  He had a point.  Also, she didn’t want to look at him more than she had to. Now that she knew about his...ability...it actively rankled her to think that she was essentially being tricked into feeling butterflies every time she looked at him.  Out of all the things Hermione disliked about the magical world, magic that forced a person to feel something false was the absolute worst.  Even Tom Riddle’s existence was due to the influence of a love potion, and if that didn’t cinch it, then nothing would.

 

Hermione pulled a pair of Muggle binoculars from her leather waist bag. It was more sensible-looking and practical than her beaded handbag, and she had to admit that the Undetectable Extension Charm on it was much better constructed than her first attempt.

 

“What are those?” Lucius tapped on the binoculars, making her field of vision shake as she lifted them up to her eyes.

 

“They help you to see things that are far away without the risk of long-term side effects,” Hermione muttered back.  She’d tried the Eagle Eye Charm before, but sometimes the counterspell took awhile to go into effect, which was not a good thing when one needed to actually see normally again.

 

“Hmph, that Muggle junk looks ridiculous,” Lucius scoffed.

 

“Sometimes Muggle junk is more useful for finding lost wives,” Hermione replied smugly, handing him the binoculars. “Point them in the direction of that window.”

 

Lucius snorted, muttering a word that sounded a bit like “doubtful,” under his breath, but did as she had instructed.

 

Hermione had to stifle a snort of laughter when his jaw dropped.

 

“But...that’s...CISSA!”  Lucius dropped the binoculars in shock and Hermione had to dive to catch them.  He stood and ran for the front door of the Muggle cottage.  

 

“Lucius, wait!” Hermione’s voice was lost in the chaos as Lucius pounded on the door with both fists.

 

Finally, the door opened and a figure was framed in the light in the room beyond.

 

It was not Narcissa.

 

“Quit it, you!” sneered Rosmerta, her wand at the ready and digging into Lucius’ nose. “You’re scaring her, you absolute knob.”

 

Both Hermione and Lucius stared.

 

“Yeah, she’s with me.  You want to make something of it?” Rosmerta’s keen eye turned slightly to indicate Hermione. “Tell your friend to come out of hiding. I saw ‘im move. Don’t even think of pointing a wand at me, or I’ll hex yer bits off.”

 

Hermione stood slowly with her hands in the air, and it was Rosmerta’s turn to look surprised.

 

“Hermione Granger? Well, I’ve seen everything, then.  What are you doing with a bastard like this one?” Rosmerta poked Lucius in the nose again, and Hermione got the impression that Rosmerta enjoyed causing Lucius discomfort.

 

“I-ow!” Lucius started, receiving another poke for his trouble. 

 

“I asked  _ her _ ,” Rosmerta said with a glare. “ _ You _ can save us all a headache and be quiet.”

 

“Well, he did actually hire me to look for Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione admitted. “He said that she had disappeared and he was worried about her.”

 

Rosmerta wrinkled her nose in disgust. “More like, he was wondering why the woman he expects to wait hand-and-foot on his miserable arse has finally escaped his clutches.”

 

“Don't put words in my wife's mouth, you vile bitch,” Lucius snarled. “I demand to speak to her myself.”

 

Rosmerta went scarlet and appeared to be about to tell him off when slender, pale fingers slipped gently over her shoulder and Narcissa Malfoy appeared in a gauzy white shift that looked unspeakably glamorous for its simplicity. 

 

“Ros, it's fine.”  Narcissa said gently. She shot a withering look at her husband. “All of you had better come in. Yes, even you,  _ girl _ .”

 

Somehow, the way Narcissa had referred to her made Hermione feel like an eleven year old again, even though she was well over thirty and a mother herself. 

 

“That won't be necessary,” Hermione said, mustering up her most professional tone of voice, “I have completed my contract with Mr. Malfoy, so I no longer need to involve myself. Mr. Malfoy, I shall send you my bill by owl.”

 

But to her surprise, Lucius was looking at her pleadingly. “Please, Hermione,” he said, “I need….an ally in the room.”

 

Hermione looked at Rosmerta and Narcissa, both of whom were fixing Lucius with frosty looks, and sighed. “Fine. But I'm adding it to my final fee, so you had better not complain when you get your bill.”

 

Lucius smiled and nodded his head fervently, and so Hermione followed him into the cottage. 

 

She was sat down next to Lucius on a couch that looked as though it had been designed by a grandmother with an obsession with floral prints. 

 

“I inherited this place from my great grandmother,” Rosmerta explained coolly, sipping tea in a decidedly unfriendly manner. “It's a bit kitschy but it's mine.”

 

“It's very cozy,” Hermione said politely. 

 

“Cissy, please,” Lucius pleaded from where he sat perched on the corner of the couch with his knee pressing slightly against Hermione’s thigh in a not altogether unpleasant manner, “Why did you go away without telling me?  I was worried that something terrible had happened.”

 

“You're looking...better than I expected,” Narcissa replied. “When I left, you were yelling abuse at me about being a dementor in disguise.”

 

Lucius had the decency to look embarrassed. “There was...what was it again, Hermione?”

 

Hermione blinked at his casual use of her name and even Narcissa gave her an odd look. 

 

“He was suffering from residual dementor taint from his time in Azkaban,” she explained, “I just happened to know something about removing it because of...um...personal reasons.”

 

Hermione tugged at her sleeve self consciously and Narcissa’s eyes slid over to the place on Hermione’s upper arm where Bellatrix had carved into her skin with the cursed dagger.

 

Hermione looked away, her face burning with shame, even though she knew that there was no logical reason for it. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had been there when she was being tortured, though Narcissa had been the only one who'd been fully lucid at the time. She'd watched with her arms twisted around her son as though shielding him from the evil Bellatrix was inflicting. 

 

The pressure of a hand on her knee made her snap out of her reverie, and her heart lurched in her chest for a completely different reason. 

 

“I am forever indebted to Hermione for her kindness,” Lucius said silkily. “She brought me back to my senses.”

 

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “I see that your irritating talent is back at full strength.  The poor girl must be beside herself.”

 

“Thank Merlin it doesn't work on me,” Rosmerta said with a sniff.

 

“Don’t expect to woo me back with your fancy talent,” Narcissa continued, taking Rosmerta’s hand in hers. “I've done my duty as your wife. It's my turn to find happiness.”

 

“Oh. So that's how it is.”  Lucius seemed to deflate. “I...I had thought that all that nonsense would be behind us by now.”

 

“Nonsense?! Why I'll have you know that-!” Rosmerta cut off her tirade as Narcissa squeezed her hand. 

 

“You know how I feel about our union,” Narcissa said coolly. “It was business, nothing more, nothing less. We did what we were expected to do and while you did make it as painless as possible, you do have to know that there's a reason why I could do easily see through your gift.”

 

Lucius stared, his face frozen between shock and despair. “Is...that true..?”

 

“Come off it, Lucius!” Narcissa retorted, “I've been saying it for over three decades! It's not my fault that you won't bloody listen to me!”

 

Lucius shrunk in his misery and Hermione could see the moment that his gift fizzled away, leaving his scar visible to all. 

 

“So. You...don't want me anymore?”  His voice was more of a squeak than anything.  

 

“I'm done, Lucius,” Narcissa replied tiredly. “I need a fresh start, and I need it with Ros, who has been nothing but patient all these years.”

 

“Then who will…love  _ me _ ...if you...don’t...” Lucius didn't even finish before fat tears began to roll down his cheeks and he clutched at his robes with shaking fingers as though to steady himself. 

 

“I'm sorry, Lucius,” Narcissa said, squeezing Rosmerta’s hand and looking at her with love in her eyes before looking back at her defeated husband, “I choose her.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lucius trudged wearily behind Hermione as they exited the cottage. Rosmerta waved cheerily at them, but it wasn't really a kind gesture so much as one that suggested “good riddance.” 

 

Hermione looked back at Lucius and felt sympathy rising through her in a sudden wave. His brand still stood out on the side of his face like a cruel, blooming flower. She remembered her own measures at trying to cover up her cursed scar, and then, later, the bruises that Ron would sometimes inflict on his bad nights- the nights where nothing she did was right and she honestly didn’t know if he even knew who she was.

 

“Here,” she said, finally, hooking her arm around his, “let me Side-Along with you.  You’re in no state to do it yourself.”

 

Lucius nodded in a droopy manner, his hair covering his face so that she couldn’t see the expression on his face.  She didn’t need to see, though, to know exactly how he felt.

 

Hermione floo-called Molly to let her know that she had to work overtime on a case again. Molly assured her that Rose would be fine.  She had tons of cousins popping by all the time and Molly was a more than capable person to handle any potential emergencies. After closing the connection, she turned to see Lucius sprawled out on the couch in a decidedly un-sexy manner.  He looked more like a blanket that had been haphazardly thrown down over the seat cushions than a person.

 

“I should go,” he muttered into one of the decorative throw pillows he was holding onto for dear life.

 

“Not in that state, you aren’t,” Hermione replied, crossing her arms. “You shouldn’t be alone after something like that. Do you want me to floo Draco?”

 

“Merlin, no!” Lucius yelped, peering out from behind the pillow with a frantic expression. “No boy should ever see his father look like this.”

 

“Draco is my age, you know,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that he would understand.”

 

“No...you don’t understand,” Lucius said miserably, “he’s never seen...it…”

 

“I...see…” Hermione frowned. “Well, I know it’s not exactly the same, since it includes a rune, but it  _ was _ carved with a cursed knife, so perhaps I might be able to...help?”

 

Lucius hid his face behind the pillow again. “It’s impossible. If anyone tries to tamper with it, I’ll be compelled by the rune to attack and kill them.  If I am too incapacitated to attack, the energy inside the rune will overload and destroy my body.”

  
Hermione bent over and placed a hand on the top of Lucius’ head and stroked his hair gently, as though she was reassuring a small child.  “I’m willing to bet that I’m faster with my spellwork than you are with your fists.”

 

“Why?” Lucius looked up, his eyes red from crying. “You have no reason to help me. I’ve been a right bastard to you and your kind, and if the situation were reversed, I’m not sure I’d risk my own life for yours.”

 

“It’s simple,” Hermione replied, her eyes kind. “You need help, and you don’t have anyone else to turn to, so here I am.”

 

“That’s not simple. That’s idiotic,” Lucius blubbered.

 

“No, Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione said pointedly. “That’s just who I am.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Quiet Room was located underneath her offices in what had originally been a root cellar.  Hermione had reinforced the walls with two feet of solid concrete and covered all of the walls, ceiling and door with thick and durable padding.  It was, for lack of a better term, a holding cell.  It was a place to put disarmed wizards and witches with bounties on their heads when the Aurors were unable to come immediately, as happened from time to time.  Even if they were under a Full Body Bind, it was always possible for someone to escape it and cause trouble, so Hermione had used her Quiet Room to subdue individuals from time to time. Hermione prefered to take non-violent cases, but bounties had paid the bills when she was in a pinch.

 

“Here’s how it will work,” Hermione said, tossing a plain set of robes at Lucius. “You will change into these robes, which don’t have any buckles, buttons or hard bits on them.  I’ll place your wand in a lock box as well, for safe keeping.  Then, you and I will go into the Quiet Room and I will ward the door.  You won’t be able to open it unless I’m either unconscious or your take my wand from me.”

 

“This really doesn’t sound like a good idea, Hermione,” Lucius said dubiously, “I may hurt you...or worse.”

 

Hermione’s laughter was uglier than she’d meant it to be. “I was nearly split in two at sixteen by Dolohov, if you’ll remember, and I have the scar to prove it.”  She made a diagonal line from her collarbone to her hip. “I think I’ll survive.”

 

Lucius looked vaguely ill.  “I...I told them that you were but children...to merely intimidate, not harm…”

 

“I’m not a child, now,” Hermione replied mildly. “I can take care of myself.”

 

Lucius looked at her for a long moment before he finally nodded and turned towards the room she’d indicated for him to change his clothing.

 

“Are you sure that this is necessary?” Lucius asked nervously.

 

“I’m not going to take it forever, merely lock it up so that you can’t cast an Unforgivable and find yourself looking at another stint in Azkaban,” Hermione replied. “Now. Wand, please.”

 

Lucius pulled the wand from the sleeve of his borrowed robes and handed it to her. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask you how you happen to have a random extra set of men’s robes lying around.”

 

“Indeed,” Hermione replied, smirking slightly. “It’s a sordid tale of going to Madam Malkins and buying a set of resizable robes for situations like this.”

 

“You’ve subdued someone with a cursed rune before?” Lucius asked, bewildered.

 

“No, but you’d be surprised what I have done,” Hermione replied, arching an eyebrow, “I think you’ll find that I’ll have you know that I’ve become rather experienced over the years.”

 

No sooner as she’d said it, Hermione could feel her face growing hot. Now she’d gone and done it.  She hadn’t meant to be suggestive with him, but from the look he’d given her afterwards, he’d taken it as such. She checked his face to see if he was trying to change her feelings so that she could blame it on him, but his face remained scarred and hollow with the grief he’d been dealt only hours before.

 

This could only mean one thing, and that thing was anything but good.

 

“I’m just being silly,” she muttered under her breath.

 

“What was that?” Lucius replied from where he was leaning against the far wall. “I must admit, Hermione, this room is rather plush. It is almost as though the entire thing is a massive bed. One might consider using it for all  _ sorts _ of things.”

 

Hermione could feel her ears turning pink. “Are you trying to seduce me, Lucius Malfoy?” she asked, her voice growing shrill, “because I can assure you, it’s not working.”

 

“Oh, it’s not working,” Lucius replied, his voice growing silky again, “For I believe it has already worked.”

 

It was now or never. Hermione gripped her wand and closed the door behind her, warding it.

 

“I’m going to begin,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice level.

“I wish you would do anything else but what you are about to do,” Lucius replied. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“Now that’s something I haven’t heard before,” Hermione snorted, feeling herself becoming more in control. “Just keep quipping like that and we’ll be just fine.” 

 

“Will we?” Lucius frowned slightly at this.

 

“Look at me, Lucius,” Hermione commanded. 

 

“I’ll try to fight it,” he replied sadly. “I promise.”

 

Hermione stared into his eyes and gave him her best professional smile before she silently cast the modified patronus spell on his cheek.

 

A moment later, all hell broke loose.

 

* * *

 

Lucius was running after her, his eyes filled with horror, but his body filled with murderous rage.  She could see it in how every muscle and tendon seemed full of tension as he moved, as though he were trying desperately to keep it from coming after her, hands spread out to grab her.

 

Hermione was fast, though her short legs and somewhat stockier postpartum body were not necessarily built for sprinting. Luckily, all she had to do was use her wand and her intelligence to slow him down.  She switched from her healing spell and cast another Sticking charm on the floor in front of him. Unable to stop in time, Lucius’ foot stuck fast to it.  He pulled at his leg with a frustrated grunt, but his face seemed at odds with his body’s movements, and was awash with relief.

 

The rune was growing smaller and smaller as Hermione blasted at it bit by bit with surgical precision (which, to be honest, was hard on a moving target, so it took her longer than she’d hoped).  Unlike the dementor venom, which reacted as one when blasted with the spell and fled the body, the rune was a tricky bit of spellwork. Hermione had to make sure to blast each bit of it with a full potency dose of the spell before it would erase from the skin, and even then, it became obvious that it was a closed loop recursive rune, which meant that the kill instinct part was part of the last layer, and could not be disabled until the rest was gone.

 

Lucius was stuck slightly left of the center of the room, but Hermione held no illusions that she was safe.  He lunged out, one leg still stuck to the straining floor fabric, nearly catching her by the arm.  Hermione pushed herself back against the wall, destroying yet another part of the rune with a grunt of exertion and a well-timed swipe of her wand.

 

Unfortunately, now the remainder of the rune was now small enough that she’d have to get closer to him to properly target them.

 

“Sorry about this in advance!” she called out, casting a tripping jinx on Lucius’ remaining free leg.  

 

Lucius fell to one knee with a grunt and Hermione affixed that to the floor with a sticking charm.  To her horror, Lucius started tearing violently at his robes. He ripped the side seam and tore it around the waist so that his knee was free again.  This time, when Hermione tried to cast the tripping jinx on his bare knee, he dodged it, leaping up enough to make the cushioned floor bulge outward under his foot with the force of his movement.

 

There was a terrible ripping sound and his foot came free, the fabric still attached.  He leapt, pushing Hermione to the floor, his hands gripping around her wrists as he used his body to pin her down underneath him.  Hermione only had time to squeak.  She couldn’t even kick him, because his knees had pinned down her legs.  His breath came in hot bursts against her lips and his grip bordered on painful.  

 

Hermione closed her eyes, waiting for the worst.  He really  _ was _ going to kill her, and it was all her fault for thinking that she could accomplish such an impossible task.

 

“H...Her...mi...o...neee,” Lucius breathed raggedly. “I...can h...hold….it…..p...please…”

 

Hermione could feel his hand loosening on the wrist that still held her wand. 

 

She did not hesitate.  

 

With a quick, jagged movement, her wand was level with the remaining rune pattern on Lucius’ cheek.  His hand began to tighten again, pulling her wrist away, and Hermione knew that she was running out of time.

 

Steeling her nerves, she did two things simultaneously.  She pressed her wand against Lucius’ cheek on the exact center of the rune and she pressed her lips against his, whispering the words of the spell into his mouth.

 

Instantly, she could feel the hairs on her neck standing up as the last of the rune dissolved, freeing an old, angry energy from where it had been trapped for years.  Lucius sagged against her, his body relaxing, and it was then that she realized that he had begun to kiss her back.  He was enthusiastic and demanding, yet somehow elegant in how he maneuvered inside of her mouth, and Hermione felt herself melting against his lips, her breath growing shallow and ragged with desire.

 

At last, he pulled away, rising up on his hands to look down on her flushed face and give her room to to catch her breath.

 

“Hermione….you... _ saved _ me,” he whispered huskily, his eyes shining brightly. “Tell me what you want. Anything at all. And I will make it yours.”

 

Hermione brought her fingers to her lips, her eyes moving from his mouth up to his eyes with indecision.

 

“What if...what if I didn’t want some _ thing _ , but some _ one _ ?” she asked, her heart hammering in her chest as she tried not to catch on fire with embarrassment at even implying the thing that she was suggesting.

 

“Oh?” Lucius purred, bringing his head down so that his lips were nearly pressed against hers. “And what would you want of this some _ one _ ?”

 

“ _ Everything _ ,” Hermione breathed back.

 

Lucius smirked, but it was a hopeful sort of smirk that made him look more boyish than confident. “I think that could be arranged, but I must warn you, there is no return policy on my heart.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of returning it,” Hermione whispered.

 

“Good,” Lucius rumbled, before closing the distance between them and melting into her kiss once more.

 

* * *

 

When it finally came out that Lucius Malfoy had been left by his wife for another, it became quite the scandal in the pure-blooded family gossip grapevine. Mysteriously, though, Rita Skeeter had absolutely nothing to say about it.  When it came out six months later that Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger were in a committed relationship and intended to marry once his divorce came through, even Skeeter was unable to help herself and wrote a scathing article about the “disgraced single mum” and the “death eater grandpa” finding a perverted love in one another.  This, however, was a very poor move on her part, as she ended up retracting her statements only weeks later after she found herself mysteriously cursed with a pair of moving antennae on her forehead that had to be surgically removed at St Mungo’s.  Though she refused to admit who had done such a thing to her, it was greatly suspected to be the work of one Hermione Granger, who would not tolerate negative things being said of her family or her new beau.

 

As for Narcissa, she was finally able to marry the love of her life, who she’d been in a relationship with since she was in her third year at Hogwarts.  They’d kept track of each other through letters and secret meetings over the years, and though Narcissa had always been devoted to Draco, she’d never truly loved Lucius the way he’d needed to be loved after a lifetime of growing up under distant parents with a house elf as his only caregiver.

 

As for Hermione, she found that the hardest part about being with Lucius Malfoy was in breaking her own negative assumptions about him.  He was surprisingly good at cooking, a doting father to Rose, and (she had to admit) absurdly charming when he put his mind to it. She could feel the heat and sincerity of his love whenever his eyes were on her (which, if they were in a room together, was always).  

 

Though Lucius Malfoy still kept to his habit of using his gift to make himself well liked as he rose from the ashes of his failed marriage and his sordid past, he never, ever used it again on Hermione, for he did not need to convince her to love him.  She could look at his true self and see him for who he truly was and still love him for it, and for Lucius, that was more than he could have ever dreamed of having.

 


End file.
